LITMIR.BIZ

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something like that. Mother isn’t enamored of my cooking.”

      “No? She should come try the cooking in…in the nineteenth century sometime. You are a wonderful cook, if I may be so bold.”

      Cresta executed a mock curtsey. “Thank you so much, sir. Seriously, I’m going to do mashed potatoes with butter, carrots in brown sugar and cinnamon, green bean casserole, and with that, slice up some French bread. How does that sound?”

      As Cresta began to move about the kitchen, Keogh left the library and came in to be with her. He was fascinated by all the gadgets in this century. The electricity which provided excellent light, the stove and oven that didn’t require wood, a can opener whirred the tops off cans, the toaster toasted bread without having to use a toast fork, that beautiful sink with hot and cold running water. He was also taken with the fridge. In his time, they had ice cellars which were filled with ice in winter and then kept covered as much as possible in summer. Now he could walk over, open the fridge door, and take out a cold beverage any time he liked.

      He sat on a stool at the central island and watched Cresta as she worked. Of course, she said, they’d have to use the formal dining room even if there were just three of them. Mother disliked having to eat in the kitchen. Myles rather got the impression that “Mother” would be happier if her daughter also had a cook, butler, and servants. He remembered when he was a boy, he had grown up with a cook and servants. In his time, Orchard House still had servants as Cresta had already seen. In fact, he had once written to his brother Tom he could remember how frustrated their mother got when she caught the boys in the kitchen listening to the servants telling stories rather than studying their school lessons.

      Cresta paused. “You okay? You’ve got this…faraway look. I guess that’s only to be expected. Listen, when you start feeling overwhelmed, talk to me. That’s what I do. I listen to people.”

      Searching for her favorite paring knife, she located the little object with an “Aha! There you are,” and began cutting up carrots.

      “I’m really sorry to spring Mother on you just a day after you’ve arrived, but she’s ridiculously persistent and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She lives fairly close to me, which means she’s over here far oftener than I’d like. I’d give a lot to have a warm, loving family like you have. Mother and I treat each other with frosty politeness, and she proceeds to criticize most of what I do. She particularly hates my job because I can’t tell her much about it. Can you imagine if she found out I was on a team working with time travel? Sweet Brigit, the entire state of Virginia would be in on it tomorrow.”

      Keogh was curious. “You oftentimes refer to Brigit. Are you Catholic? St. Brigit is one of the patron saints of Ireland.”

      “No, I’m afraid I am not Catholic. I’m not sure what I am. I was raised a Methodist but fell out of love with organized religion when I grew up. I have always loved the older Brigit. The one in the Celtic religion who was the daughter of the Dagda and one of the Tuatha De Danann. Goddess of poetry, crafts, divination, and prophesy. She was eventually absorbed by the Catholic church as a Saint, but she still had serious pastoral connections.”

      Myles wasn’t aware of the saint’s background. “You say she was part of the ancient Celtic religion? A pagan religion?”

      Cresta smiled. “What is religion, Myles? It’s the worship of a deity. And with that worship comes a set of rules or principles. Christians have the Ten Commandments and the Bible. Muslims have the Koran, Wicca has the five points of Earth, Wind, Fire, Water, and Spirit. The Lakota have three points of their deity, Wakan Tanka, the Creator. Sun, Mother Earth, and Fellow Man.”

      At that, Myles’s head jerked up. “What do you know of the Lakota?”

      “Take it easy. I was just using it as an example of a people with a deity and a set of beliefs. They are people, just like any people.”

      It was clear Keogh had more to say on the subject, but at that moment, Mettie chose to jump up on the central island and approach him. He didn’t move, and it wasn’t long until the hairless, wrinkled beast began licking his left ear. Satisfied, she jumped back to the floor and sauntered off.

      “I think you have the house cat stamp of approval. I’ve got to set the table. Shall I use the blue china or the white and green?”

      Keogh predictably picked the china her great-grandmother left her because it was white with tiny green shamrocks around the edges for decoration. Cresta had a complete set of it as well as a medium green tablecloth. At his question, she admitted her great-great-grandfather from Ballymena, born in 1838, immigrated to Virginia in 1850 with his family. He was James Cocoran and was the one who had built this farm house and farmed the surrounding five hundred acres of land. Her great-grandfather, Eaman Cocoran, was born in 1877; his son, Andrew Cocoran, born in 1917, had sired her mother in 1950, who had married Damien Leigh in 1969. She, Cresta, had been born in 1971.

      Keogh was staring at her in “that way” again. “Then you are…thirty-one? Forgive me. I am being rude. You do not look thirty-one. Not compared to the women of my time.”

      She repositioned the salt and pepper shakers. “I don’t know if that was a compliment or a criticism. You must remember that women in this time don’t have nearly the backbreaking work women in your time had, servants or not, nor do we have a dozen children. Well, most of us don’t. Childbearing not only changes a woman’s body, it can take years off her life if she does it every nine months.”

      “But how could you prevent the…” Keogh’s florid complexion turned beet red.

      Cresta laughed. “In this century, there are several ways, and no, it’s not against God. The Christian Church initially didn’t approve, but it’s becoming more and more accepted now. The children a man and a woman choose to have is their business and not the business of the Church. Another thing, Colonel, a lot of people in this time enjoy sex merely for the pleasure of having sex.”

      Keogh’s red face became a shade redder, which caused Cresta to laugh again. “I’m sorry, and I know I’m shocking you, but at present, you are in my time. Things are different.”

      All she heard was a muttered “By all the saints and sweet Brigit, I guess they are.”

      Mother arrived precisely at seven o’clock. She swept in wearing perfectly tailored beige pants, matching jacket, light coral sweater, brown leather handbag, brown boots, and a coral and brown scarf tied jauntily around her blonde ponytail. She made the motions of kissing her daughter on both cheeks…moi, moi…and then turned to Myles, holding out her hand, which he took and kissed.

      “Cresta, darling. Please introduce me to your handsome friend.”

      Oh boy, Mother is in top form tonight. “Mother, please meet Lieutenant Colonel Myles W. Keogh.” Cresta couldn’t resist using his brevet title just to impress. Then she excused herself to go get drinks.

      “My, my. The military is recruiting the handsomest officers these days. Tell me, Colonel, what is it you do?”

      Keogh cleared his throat. “Madam…all right then, Missus Leigh, I…yes, if you would prefer I call you Lorena…what? Yes, Lora, that is…whatever would make you pleased.” He hadn’t had a woman hurl names at him so fast in a long time.

      Cresta returned to the dining room carrying a tray. “Mother, behave. Here is your mai-tai. Myles? Here is a whiskey for you, and I will sip at some Chardonnay while we chat.”

      Lora repeated her question, and Myles sipped nervously at his drink.

      “I am assigned to the Seventh Cavalry division of the United States Army.”

      Before he tried to explain the difference between his Civil War brevet rank and his US Army rank of Captain, Cresta cut in.

      “You see, mother, the cavalry division of the army was created in eighteen sixty-six and is still in existence. They have fought in both World Wars, Korea and Vietnam. No, Mother, they do not ride horses into battle any longer.”

      She glanced

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